


Glow

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul is very distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a fic that originally appeared in the lj johnheartpaul comm.

He hit the opening chord and heard it echoed back to him from Paul and George. The bassline kicked in and Pete came in with the drums and they were off, fast and loud and rocking as if their lives depended on it.

Sometimes he thought his did. He loved all this – the music, the club, the noise, the booze, the smoke – with a passion he’d never felt for a bird. He looked over at Paul and flashed a grin as Paul’s harmonies came in right on cue. Their voices sounded so fucking good together, and Paul rocked with him like no one had before. He turned to grin at Stuart but he had his back turned, playing to the wall, all cool attitude. John felt a flash of annoyance – attitude was all well and good but where was the fire? Paul felt the fire, he knew it, but Stu, well Stu was all ice. Except when it came to his art. And Astrid.

John shrugged off the flash of annoyance he always felt when he thought of Stuart and Astrid and looked back at Paul. He was flirting with a bird in front of the stage, much to her boyfriend’s disgust. John marveled at Paul’s ability to pull birds, sweat-soaked as he was. He’d just flash that grin and put a little growl in his vocals and you could fucking smell the girls’ panties getting wet. Look at him now, he thought, hopped up on prellies, drunk as a lord and glowing, fucking _glowing_ in the lights of the stage. He was beautiful, John realized, missing a chord change as the realization struck him, making a face at Paul when he grimaced at his mistake then refocusing his attention on the job at hand.

Later, sat over pints in the early morning hours, wincing whenever anyone opened the door and let in the light, he watched Paul over the edge of his glass. How had he not realized before that Paul was beautiful ? Sure, he wasn’t used to thinking of blokes that way, but he’d always been aware of Stuart’s beauty, appreciating it the way one might a Greek statue. Paul was different, though, less exotic than Stu though no less talented. More talented where it counted, really. Stuart could stand with his back to the crowd as much as he wanted – all that attitude didn’t hide that his bass playing was crap.

Walking home finally Paul stopped to light a cigarette and a shaft of morning sun broke through the clouds and he was backlit. John felt his breath catch in his throat as Paul just seemed to glow in the sunlight, a halo of light surrounding his form. John closed his eyes briefly and when he reopened them the sun had gone back behind the clouds and Paul was back to being Paul, sweaty, drunk, stinking to high heaven and rabbiting on about some nonsense John hadn’t been paying any attention to. Relieved, and just a little disappointed, he turned and continued walking home.

\-----------------

They’d been back home a month, without Stuart. Gigs were coming their way and it began to look like they’d actually succeed at this whole scene. John and Paul were spending more and more time together, their common goal providing a bond neither found anywhere else. Even George, as determined as he was to perfect his guitar playing, wouldn’t have been bothered if they didn’t achieve fame. To John and Paul, fame was the whole point. Why slog through playing in cheap dives and sleeping on mattresses stained with God knows what if you weren’t going to get famous from it?

On this day they were back in the graveyard, scene of many youthful indiscretions. John had brought along a few bottles of beer and they were slumped against a headstone, drinking and chatting idly.

John had never really been the same since his realization in Hamburg. He always felt a little wary around Paul, as if Paul might suddenly start to glow again and he’d end up doing something stupid like pointing it out, just to be ridiculed mercilessly for the rest of his natural. 

Today he found himself very aware of the closeness of Paul, of the casual way Paul always draped his body so that some part of him was touching John. He was sure Paul had no idea he was doing it, and John himself had only started noticing it recently, but it was unfailing. Today, Paul sat propped up against the gravestone, one leg stretched in front of him, the other bent sideways so his knee just barely grazed John’s. 

Unable to stand it any more he got up and started prowling the graveyard.

“Paulie, do you think there’s a heaven?”

“Well if there is, they won’t open the doors for the likes of us.”

John snorted agreement, then continued his line of thought. “No, really, Paul. Look at all these stones: ‘Gone to a better place’, ‘Living in everlasting peace’, ‘Gone to his just reward’. Think life was so shitty for these people that they just had to believe that death would improve things?”

Paul thought about it for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think for some people it is. I mean, if you’ve got a shitty job and your wife’s always going on at you and your children are hooligans, well, you’d start to wonder what it’s all about, wouldn’t you? Start to think there must be something better?”

“That won’t happen to us, though, will it Paulie? Life be so bad that death seems like a better choice?”

“Nah, mate. Not us. We’re going to be Elvis, all girls and cadillacs and brilliant music. We’ll make our own heaven, right here.”

“That’s right, isn’t it Paul? We don’t need their heaven. We’ll make our own.”

“Absofuckinlutely.”

\--------------

On the road, night after night in cheap rooming houses, single beds with thin mattresses and a bath down the hall, but those beds felt like heaven after a long night playing and traveling. 

John fell back into his bed, pausing just long enough to pull off his sweaty shirt and jeans, tossing them onto the floor. He flung an arm over his eyes to protect them from the glare of the streetlights shining in through the thin curtains and sighed, feeling his body settle into the mattress, rearranging himself slightly to avoid the spring poking through at his hip. He heard the sounds that told him Paul had done exactly the same thing, both of them too knackered to even consider a bath, too tired to eat the fish and chips that Brian had sent along for them.

John drifted off to sleep only to be woken suddenly by the sound of Paul snoring. He lifted his head to pull the pillow out from under it, intending to throw it at Paul to shut him up, when he paused. The room was completely dark except for the light from the street outside the window, the light that was shining on Paul, illuminating him. John groaned at the sight, then grimaced as he realized he’d groaned aloud. The last thing he wanted right now was for Paul to wake up and find him staring. And he was staring, he realized, secure in the knowledge that Paul would never know. Paul had kicked the covers off in the night and the light was shining on all that pale flesh, naked except for y-fronts and socks. 

He looked openly, greedily, drinking in the sight of Paul’s chest, dark hair sprinkled across it, of his legs splayed out, one foot hanging off the bed, of that face, composed in sleep, peaceful and sweet. He looked at the muscles in Paul’s arms and wondered what it would be like to trace his fingers along them. He looked at the sweat pooling in the hollow of Paul’s throat and wondered how it would taste. He had a brief flash of what it might feel like to have Paul’s legs wrapped around him, and moaned. 

The moan startled him out of his reverie and he became aware of his body’s all too obvious reaction to his thoughts. He tried to will his erection away, tried to refocus his thoughts on how tired he was, how good sleep felt, how much he didn’t want to think of Paul like that but it was no use. His eyes refused to look away and, clamping the pillow over his mouth to stifle any untoward sounds he might make, his hand snaked its way down his body as he sought release.

\--------------

What followed was a crazy time, his own personal Roman holiday. He threw himself into the music, then into the girls. Drunken debauchery became his credo and he became infamous for the things he would do on a moment’s notice. Want someone to wander outside in their underwear and hail a cab? Ask John. Want someone to sit at a bar naked and order drinks? Ask John. Want someone to swim in the fancy fishpond in February? Ask John. He did it all, and more, leading the boys on a manic tour of his imagination.

He did everything he could, everything his brain could come up with in an attempt to erase that night from reality. He’d never lain in bed and watched Paul. He’d never jerked himself off to the sight of Paul’s body. And he’d certainly never, ever, had dreams about Paul that would make a Bangkok hooker blush.

But of course, eventually he’d be alone in a bed somewhere and his hand would wander down and he’d grab hold of himself and he’d search his memory for an image suited to the occasion and nine times out of ten what would come to mind would be Paul – Paul sleeping, Paul laughing, Paul singing, Paul, God help him, smoking, Paul doing any one of a myriad of Paul things – and he’d be lost in the fantasy. 

Paul, meanwhile, was starting to get concerned about him, starting to wonder if he was all right, had even suggested John go see a doctor about whatever it was that was bothering him. John had smothered a nervous titter at the image of him sitting in a doctor’s office trying to explain he was queer for his best friend and insisted he was just weary of touring. Paul didn’t believe him, but knew John well enough to let it go.

\---------------

His head arched back as Paul stroked him, knowing hands touching him in exactly the right places. He groaned as Paul put his open mouth on his neck, breathing in his scent. His body moved of its own accord, hips thrusting into Paul’s hand as Paul moved to whisper in his ear, “Come on baby, come on, yes, that’s it, a little more, come for me baby, so hot, so fucking hot, I want you, I want to take you, I want to make you hard all the time, come on, just a little more, yes, baby, oh yes, oh yes…”

He called out Paul’s name as he shot off into the hand that gripped his hard-on, then stilled as he heard glass shattering somewhere nearby. Breathless and suddenly very, very afraid, he turned his head to look.

Paul was bent down in the doorway, picking up the pieces of the glass he’d dropped, face bright red, eyes focused on the job at hand.

“Paul…” he whispered.

“Don’t mind me,” Paul said hurriedly, “Just dropped the bloody glass. I’ll just clear it up and get out of your way.”

“Paul…I…what did you hear?”

Paul paused for a minute, eyes on the floor, then took a deep breath and looked up.

“Nothing. I didn’t hear anything. Nothing important, anyway.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Paul. What did you hear?”

“I...just…I heard my name. Okay? I heard you say my name. Nothing unusual in that. You say my name all the damn time. Nothing to worry about. No problem.”

“Then why’d you drop the glass?”

“It slipped.”

“Paul, we both know what you heard.”

“Fine then. Great. No need to ask, then, is there? I’ll just go on my way.”

“Paul…don’t you want to know?”

Paul looked at John carefully, as if considering his answer.

“No,” he said finally, “I don’t really think I do.”

\-------------

And so it went. They never talked about it, but Paul started to move away from John, just a little. It started with a room swap; suddenly John was sharing with George. Then he realized that Paul was no longer angling his body towards him, no longer unconsciously touching him. Now Paul was all too aware of where their bodies were at all times, and made very sure never to touch John if he could avoid it. Then Paul started seeking other people to spend all his time with, and the parade of willing females through his room was neverending.

Still, John couldn’t help but watch him, always aware of Paul’s presence in any room, always tuned in to where Paul was. His dreams continued unabated, though he was careful to make sure the door was firmly locked. And he started drinking again.

\-------------

Shea Stadium. What felt like a million people all gathered to see them. A fulfillment of a dream, everything they’d ever wanted. They were loud and fast and furious, they were sweaty and disheveled and hoarse, they were Elvis, they were in heaven. John was in his element, playing with the crowd, laughing with the band, then he looked over at Paul and time stopped. He knew he was playing, knew he was singing, but all he could see, think about, focus on, was Paul. The sweat on his skin had caught the lights of the stadium and his eyes were shining with that special look of joy and the fire of the rocker within combined with the glow of his skin made him absolutely incandescent. John’s breath caught and Paul looked at him and John saw the look in Paul’s eyes and saw that Paul knew, he fucking _knew_ exactly what was going on in John’s mind. And the look in his eyes said he was thinking it too.

John lost it, started playing like a crazy man, hysteria starting to build at the thought of what was in Paul’s eyes. He did everything he could think of to take his mind off it, playing the organ with his elbows, doubling George over with laughter, letting the manic side of his personality take over.

Later, there was a party. There was always a party but this one had a different feel to it. Old friends had dropped by to help them celebrate the Event that was Shea and the atmosphere was more comfortable than most of these things tended to be. Comfortable enough that the pot had come out and everyone was getting quietly buzzed.

Paul came over and collapsed on the couch beside him, handing him a joint. John accepted it and took a long toke, trying to avoid thinking about Paul’s knee which was resting perilously close to his own. He was appalled when his mouth opened as if of its own accord and he started to say words he’d never intended to say out loud.

“It’s not fair, you know.”

“What?”

“You. Being around you. You fucking glow. It’s not fair.”

“I glow?”

“Yeah. All bright and shiny. You drown out everything else. The whole room goes dark and you just shine in the middle of it.”

“Okay, well, that’s enough weed for you.”

“It’s not the weed. It’s you. Man doesn’t stand a chance around you.”

There was silence for a minute, then Paul shifted slightly closer to John.

“John?”

“Mm?”

“When you…you know…when you said my…that time…when I broke the glass…you said my name.”

“Yeah.”

“John, you were jerking off.”

“I know.”

“To me?”

“Yeah.”

“But that was…I mean…just once, right?”

“No, Paulie. All the time. I think about you all the fucking time.”

“Oh.”

Paul took the joint from John’s hands and pulled deeply on it.

“But John…you’re not…you like girls, right?”

“Love ‘em.”

“So…why?”

“I told you, you glow. It’s distracting.”

“Oh. John, in the…fantasies, you know…when you think about me…what do I do?”

John turned and grinned at Paul, “Everything.”

“Oh.”

\----------------

He woke with a start not sure what had roused him. He lay in the dim morning light and listened, then realized the sound he’d heard was a soft knocking on the door. He pulled on his jeans and went to open it, surprised to see Paul standing there.

“Everything?” Paul asked.

“What?”

“You said I did everything. In your…you know…when you were…” his voice trailed off as he looked significantly at John’s crotch.

“Oh! Oh. Yeah. Well, what’s the point of having a fantasy if you don’t include everything.”

“But what makes you think I’d want to do everything?”

“What?”

“Well, you were thinking about me, right? So how would you know what I’d do. Or, for that matter, how I’d do it.”

“Um…I think you’re missing the point of the whole fantasy angle.”

“But wouldn’t it be better if you knew for sure?”

“Well, sure, but seeing as that’s unlikel…mmmph!” John’s voice was cut off as Paul suddenly leaned in and kissed him, hard. John stood in shock for a moment, then began to kiss him back. Paul pulled back after a minute and grinned at him.

“See,” he said, “Fantasy’s all very well, but I think it’s important to have some factual information to go on.”

John stared at him wide-eyed and just nodded. Paul laughed and walked away.

“Cat got your tongue? The wicked wit of the mighty Lennon silenced by a kiss?”

“What the fuck was that?” John exploded finally.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…” he shook his head, trying to clear it. “Paul, you don’t…we’ve never…we don’t kiss!”

“Well, no, we haven’t. But I think it’s time we started, don’t you?”

“Uh…do you?”

Paul moved back to John, moved in close to him, put his face up next to him and whispered, “Yes.”

“You see, John,” he continued, “I have a slight confession to make. When I dropped that glass, when I saw you jerking off and heard you calling my name…you asked me what I heard. You never asked me how long I’d been standing there.”

“What? What??”

“Mm. The answer is a while, John. I’d been standing there a while. I’d been watching you. You were beautiful, all hard and flushed and sweaty, hand pumping away, and I stood and watched. Couldn’t have pulled away even if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t. Want to, that is. I wanted to stay and watch. I wanted to have that image of you burned in my brain. I wanted to be in that fucking bed with you, with my mouth on your skin and my hand on your dick and I wanted to be doing all sorts of naughty things to you and I was completely lost in the sight of you. And then you called my name and I thought you knew I was there. That’s why I dropped the glass, I thought you’d caught me. And then I realized that you hadn’t, that you’d been thinking about me…and I panicked.”

“You prick!”

Paul pulled back in shock. “What?”

“You fucking prick! All this time, all this fucking time, you’ve been letting me think I was the only one who was having these thoughts, let me think I was out of my fucking mind, and you…you bastard!”

“John...I…”

“No! Fuck off, Paul. Fuck off out of here now and take your stupid fucking glow with you!”

"John, no, I didn’t mean…”

“Out, Paul!”

“John, please. Johnny, don’t. I’m sorry. I was scared, I was so scared of what it meant and what was going on and I didn’t know if you really wanted me or if it was just one time and I mean…hell…you were just jerking off, I’m the one who stood and watched, I’m the pervert.”

“Yeah, you are. Fucking pervert, fucking watching me wank. Invasion of privacy, that’s what it is.”

Paul stood for a minute looking at John, trying to figure out exactly what was going through his head. John wouldn’t meet Paul’s eyes, was staring at the floor. Paul took a chance and moved toward him.

“John?”

“What?”

“Everything?”

John kept staring at the floor but his cheeks began to flush pink.

“John?”

“What?”

“Everything means…um…well, yes, what I want to know…who was on top, John? I mean, did you fuck me or did I…?”

John stayed completely still, fascinated by the carpet, until one shaking hand reached up and he pointed at Paul. Paul smiled and took another half-step forward.

“John?”

“What?”

“You wanna?”

“What?”

“Everything, John. You wanna?”

John looked up now at Paul, disbelief in his eyes.

“I mean, clearly you’ve been thinking…everything about me, and equally clearly I can’t get the image of you all hard and breathless out of my head and of course there’s that whole glowing thing. So, you wanna?”

John reached a hand out to Paul’s face and nodded and the room suddenly became very dark, except for the light in the middle that was two bodies finally meeting.


End file.
